It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.

The Raihan Empire is but one splinter of the human diaspora. At its height the Empire spanned eight star systems but eventually corruption and decay set in. The Empire collapsed, its great works crumbled, its worlds became isolated. For a thousand years it was so…

Until a new warlord arose on Raiha, one that managed to quell the disparate factions fighting over the Throne world. When all his enemies were vanquished he marched upon the palace district where the remnants of the Imperial family cowered. However, instead of seizing the throne for himself Arcturus Garan pledged himself and his army to the service of the remaining Empress and took the title of Lord Commander.

Together the Empress and Lord Commander began the process of rebuilding the Empire, first securing the home system, then bringing each of the wayward colonies back into the fold.

Five out of the original eight colonies have been absorbed back into the resurgent Empire. Only the systems of Noto, Higg and Kornen actively resist annexation. Together they have formed the NKH Defence Pact, or simply the Pact.

Now the Pact must guard its independence against the growing might of the New Raihan Empire. The odds are not in their favour, they are outnumbered and outgunned, but the Imperial Forces have not yet regained their full power and the war is not over yet…

((This quest is an indirect sequel to Space shipyard quest, knowledge of previous threads is not required but it will do much to add context. Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=space+shipyard))

[Illusion of a quest AKA ONE SHOT.]

The eternal malice of the sun bothers you from a long and weary sleep.
You open your eyes for the first time.
The world appears boundless and without form.
You open your mouth and let out no vagitus to rend the air.
The horizon is empty and full of opportunities.
You are but a newborn and yet it is not hard to stand.

Let's begin.

in a meaningless world, a girl finds heaven in scarlet mist

You are planning to murder somebody. You are an unassuming person of 28 years of age. You would consider yourself well-educated and quite cunning.
No significant other in your life. You work four days a week in an office for a cookware company in Scholton, a nearby town. You would not describe yourself as particularly empathetic or emotional, and the idea of killing someone strikes you about as unsettling as the idea of shooting a deer in a hunt.

What kind of killer are you?
>Detailed plans and schemes, creative deaths. I have a complexity fetish.
>Impulsive and brutal. I make a mess.
>Sadistic and drawn out. I just want them to hurt for a long, long time.
>Sexual. I’m a slave to my impulses. Aren’t we all?
>Simple and efficient. No frills. No fuss.
>Quick kills but I leave clues and evidence to taunt the police and public. I want a chase. I want to be seen.

> While every world travels slowly towards its end, yours has just begun its journey.
> For this world, the cycle of Gods and Men spins anew, on freshly birthed lands awash with life.
> You are a being of creation, a God, among the first divinities born not long after a world’s genesis. You possess innate knowledge and immense power, with which you may seize dominance and carve out a place for yourself in these savage, untamed wilds.

Welcome to a spinoff installation of Beings of Creation, a long-running tactical civ-style hexcrawl based on your imagination. You are a non-omniscient divine being of great power. You find yourself spontaneously brought into existence in a prehistoric, primeval world, untouched by Gods.
The rules are relatively simple, and may be picked up as you go, but the document below goes into detail. Most players are familiar veterans of the game, so don't be shy and feel free to ask questions.
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1eOyLUfkbgVFHjIPmNmcW9G2wQE7CZenv69m9yQF_aMY
https://discord.gg/yd3KbdCZ

<span class="mu-r">With a few gods already out of the running, feel free to post a god sheet in the thread if you’re interested in joining in.</span>

>Turn 11 begins!

Oito chaves guardam o que o tempo não curou, \\
Oito ecos do "nós" que a lógica apagou. \\
Siga o rastro das cinzas, se tiver coragem de ver, \\
Pois cada verso esconde o que você deixou morrer.\\

Your sprained ankle barely carrying you. The dull throbbing pain in your head at least numbs the pain in your shoulder and forearms. Though it does little to quell the pain in your side from your broken ribs. You glance over to the group of people behind you. Dressed in black school uniforms, roughly a dozen of them.

They are all standing roughly ten-fifteen feet behind you. Looking at you with hate, and some fear in their eyes. They are clumped up together like posing for a group photo, and do not advance on you. Even though they've been kicking the hell out of you a minute ago. Then a long shadow descended from the direction the sun was setting, and covered you all. Forcing them to back off as if something physically pushed them away.

"Go on! Get out of here!" their leader yells, but does not cross the long shadow.
Whatever curses leave your mouth, they are barely a whisper, you cough as you continue. Away from them, away from your home. Following the distant figure that casts that long shadow.

You look down upon yourself, and verify that your strongest asset is still there, surviving the battering.

>Your fist, you always had the meanest right punch
>Your leg, it started with kicking ball and soon it became kicking people
>Your abs, rock hard and keeping your organs mostly protected, helping stamina
>Write-in

Spring, 200X. Evening.
_______

There is a ringing behind your ears. Your senses are dulled, and are wrestling with an internal static preventing you from regaining your grip on reality. For a moment you are stunned into forgetting the where and the why of the drama: that is what happens when you get caught in an explosion. Before numbness invaded your system a mysterious force smashed into the walls of your school. A villain appeared. You could never have predicted a villain showing up in your town of Hauteville.

You and your class had little time to react. The entity collided with the building at lightning speed; demolishing one side of the school a flashy figure appeared. <span class="mu-s">A rogue magical girl.</span>

The floor offers stability for your hands and knees to rely on, currently the most reliable object for support. The fuzz in your head vanishes at a snail's pace as teenagers scream in the chaos.

"This is revenge! I'm sick of being looked down upon! You only have yourselves to blame!" the magical girl reasons. She looks familiar. There must be some sort of supernatural barrier from being recognized; but her looks and tone invoke a visceral response to your psyche. "Where is she!?"

Clarity of mind returns little by little while the magical girl sows destruction. You also feel a mysterious energy inside you as well. Is it the sensation of your life in peril? Or something more?

One of the first shards of clarity returns: your name is Gana. In this world, there are good magical girls and bad magical girls with monsters in between.

Your reputation in school is known for:

>A girl from a pretty rich family. Richer than the normal standard in Hauteville. Materialistic, arrogant, antagonistic against classmates who have less. You have bullied others for having cheap clothes or bad makeup.
>A girl leading a clique in your part of school. You have been political with your classmates; others that stand against you often find life hell afterwards. Intriguing, manipulative, antagonistic to rebellion.
>A girl frequently envious of others. You are a popular talk for boys; you exude a need for attention and hate it when someone prettier comes along. Contenders frequently run into bad rumors about themselves, in class and over the net. Vain, shallow, antagonistic to modesty.
>write-in
______

<span class="mu-s">Magical girl Encountered: Montesinos, the Indignant Magical Girl</span>

>You are a human Fighter
>Your age, sex, name and appearance are up to you

>Str 14
>Dex 14
>Con 14
>Int 14
>Wis 14
>Cha 14

>Choose a fighting style, Archetype, background, two extra proficiencies (four in total) and a feat from this site: https://dnd5e.wikidot.com/fighter

>increase one ability score by 1

>You have 2500 experience, and are level 3.

You stand in the cold outside the Shalemoor dungeon, it's entrance is a lightless arch with darkness behind, diving deep into the stony hillside behind it. You stand in a small valley between three hills, one of which holds the dungeon entrance. The cold breeze from the moors is broken slightly by the thick pines growing in this depression. You are alone (save for any retainers a background may grant you), and you see a small pile of ash nearby, fifty feet from the entrance, and a pair of torches in sconces, one on each side of the door.

You came here under order of the King, his Highness King Garriot offered Knighthood to any who can slay the ten worst monsters said to dwell in this pit, and return with evidence, the monsters are: